We keep wondering whether we were wrong to stay. Perhaps some on the road will make it in time. But those who tried, report sitting in solid traffic as cheese sandwiches congealed and engines overheated. They carried on until the point at which it was clear they would not be moving any further; turned round and ended up here, lured by the open air, sea, the promise of company.
I suppose we could still go home. Bolt the door, draw the curtains, and hide under the duvet. We could spend the time watching box sets of Star Trek or Friends, The Sopranos or House, Anything that helped us while away the time and pretend our world is not about to end.
And the wave will come for us wherever we are, and whatever we are doing. So I am glad we are here to face it. Tomorrow morning, nine hours after the collapse of Cumbre Viejo, the sea will draw in its waters with the deepest of breaths. It will retreat far down the ocean bed, revealing the inhabitants of the sea bed – bass, cockles, mussels, crabs and snails – exposed for a moment to the air. And we will know, then, that the wave is coming for us. A thousand feet of water racing towards us, condemning us to death.
It is still hard to imagine it, sitting here on this perfect summer night, the sun departed, the first stars beginning to light the darkening sky, that tomorrow this will all be gone. We will all be gone. So we try not to. Instead we will sit by the campfire, telling each other the stories of our lives. Hands held in the darkness. Offering comfort in the face of what is to come.
The night will pass slowly. Watch with us if you can. When morning comes, we will be gone
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Five other comments
Jake Marsden Silly bitch. You should have left. You deserve to drown
Alice Evans It’s very slow now. We’re hoping it will improve when we hit the dual carriageway. Singing silly songs to keep our spirits up . Glad you are not alone x
10 mins
Beverley Lewis Oh Poppy, you amaze as always. Will text you, perhaps we could chat?
3 mins
Finn Matthews. Lots of love, and ignore the trolls
2 min
COMPLINE
Poppy
The first wave of nausea hits me when I finish my post. I have managed, so far, not to think too much about tomorrow, but as I watch the red sun moving towards the horizon it occurs to me that this will be my last sunset. I am suddenly very aware of the thump of my heart, a heart that beats faster the more I think about it. Below me, I can see the glow of the campfire, and hear the murmur of voices above the swish, swish, swish of the waves, the squawks of sea birds. I should feel peaceful sitting here watching Venus rise in the pale blue sky, surrounded by the warmth that still lingers now the wind has died down. On an ordinary evening I would be feeling calm, happy, relaxed.
But this is not an ordinary evening. Now I am alone, I am hit with the full force of that. Nothing is typical tonight. My chest tightens and my breathing quickens. I try to focus on the sound of the waves, the rhythm of the water moving in and out. But it only serves to remind me of the wave that is to come. Breathe deep, I tell myself, breathe deep, but all I do is gulp the air so fast I cannot breathe. My vision blurs. I gasp and I gasp and I gasp – I am drowning in my fear. I cannot make it stop. The sickness builds up inside me until, all of a sudden, I cannot hold it in. I turn around in time to throw up in the bin behind me.
Throwing up helps. I breathe a little deeper, and then deeper still. Presently, I find I am able to stand up. My legs are shaking, but they are strong enough to take me to the clubhouse toilets where I wash my face and rinse my mouth. I gaze at myself in the mirror. I don’t look too bad, considering … I don’t let myself finish the sentence. I need to compose myself before I go back to the others. I don’t want them to see me reduced like this. I invited them so I wouldn’t be alone tonight, but now they are here I find myself wanting to be the person who holds it all together. I am not quite sure why. Perhaps I want to be seen as strong, because generally I am not. Or perhaps I am just seeking redemption. My reflection stares back at me, as it reasserts the deceptive mask of calm, the face that says all is well. It’s been a while since I’ve had to use this trick; I’m a little unsettled by how easy the habit re-establishes itself. I check myself in the mirror again. I look fine. It is time to go back.
At the top of the slope, I slip off my shoes. The path still retains the heat of the day. But when I cross to the sand, though the surface is warm, the granules are cool underneath. It’s a pleasant feeling, and one I won’t experience for much longer, so I take my time, making the most of it. The smell of smoke and sausages draws me back to the campfire where Yan has been busy in my absence.
‘Grub up,’ he calls and we obediently form a queue for food. I take a plate and plonk myself down by Nikki. Yan sits down next to me. We seem to have got through one bottle of wine already, so James opens another one, passing it round the group. I pour myself a glass and swill a mouthful of Rioja in my mouth, glad I brought the good wine with me. For a while, everyone is too busy eating and drinking to speak much, which gives me the chance to observe them discreetly. I’ve decided already that Yan is all right. More than all right. He’s mucked in, cooked and worked hard to make everyone feel welcome. It’s just a shame that I wasn’t imagining his interest earlier; he keeps giving me sideways glances when he thinks I’m not looking. It’s just as well it’s not just the two of us; it should make it easier, to avoid any moment that might signal intimacy, but it’s a nuisance. Why does life have to be so complicated even now?
Our most recent arrivals, Shelley and Harry, are sitting slightly apart from the main body of the group. I’m taking that in the way I’m sure Harry intends. He has made no bones about the fact he thinks we’re stupid to be sitting here, not trying to escape. I get the sense that she might be thinking otherwise, but she seems content to let him do all the talking, which makes me respect her less. Why are some women so content to walk in a man’s shadow? I’ve never understood that. Still, it doesn’t endear her to me. I move on.
Margaret. Now Margaret is a different sort of woman completely. Though she was flustered on arrival, after a cup of tea and a chat, she soon settled in. Now, as she sits with food on her lap, a plastic mug in her hand, she retains the authoritative air of the former civil servant, the person you can trust in a crisis. As if to confirm my thoughts, here she is offering to get some more tents from home later. She smiles at me and I immediately feel a rush of warmth towards her.
James and Nikki complete the circle. They are sitting quite close to each other. He is whispering something in her ear and she is grinning. They’ve only known each other a few hours, but there seems to be something between them. Do people really fall for each other that quickly? Or is it just the situation we find ourselves in? Whatever the reason, it makes me feel happy, right at this moment, that I’ve been the means of bringing them together. Of bringing us all together. I have a momentary rise of panic when I think what that means. I push it firmly back in its box. I am determined I will not let fear ruin this evening.
‘Fuck,’ says Yan, interrupting my thoughts.
‘What?’
‘The BBC is saying that a few years ago the government cancelled the National Disaster Early Warning Unit. They’re saying that it could have saved us…’
Fuck indeed.
‘That’s assuming it would have worked,’ says Margaret.
‘Of course it would have worked,’ says Harry sharply. He glowers at Margaret who blushes for some reason. Time to change the subject.
‘Let’s play a get-to-know-you game,’ I say with my best hostess voice. ‘How about we share our favourite memory?’
Harry rolls his eyes, but to my surprise is the first one to contribute. ‘That’s easy …’ Shelley gazes at him, with a smile that suggests she knows what he is going to say. The smile tightens into a thin grimace when he adds ‘Losing my virginity to Aileen Cooper. I was fifteen, she was seventeen. I was the envy of the class …�
�� He turns to her, not appearing to see the tears in her eyes, ‘What about you, Shells?’
‘Five years old, walking in the park with my Mum, feeding the ducks. I used to love doing that.’
‘Mine’s with my grandmother ,’ says Margaret. ‘Being in her kitchen while she cooked bread. Feeling warm, safe, loved.’ Shelley nods, and moves closer towards her.
‘Riding the surf on Bondi Beach. That was some fortnight,’ says Yan.
‘I always wanted to do that one,’ I say, realising with a jolt that I’ll never have the chance now. ‘For me it’s probably seeing the Niagra Falls for the first time. It was winter, the water was half frozen in weird shapes, and I had the whole place to myself. I went back years later in the summer when they were roaring and you could take the boat to the bottom and get splashed by the spray, but it wasn’t quite the same.’
‘Wish it was cold enough to freeze the sea tomorrow,’ says James. We laugh, even Harry. ‘My best moment? Getting a first. I’d worked so hard, and I was so proud. The day I got the email … well, nothing’s quite topped that since.’
‘My family,’ says Nikki, her voice soft, and close to tears. ‘Being with my parents and siblings. Any time, anywhere, any place.’
‘Well, that was all very heartwarming,’ says Harry. ‘How about your worst moment?’
My heart sinks. There is no way I can share my worst moment. Not just because it is so awful I try never to think of it, but if I told them what I’d done, they’d hate me for sure. As Harry regales us with a story about a lost deal, I rack my brains to come up with an alternative. ‘So that’s my worst moment – apart from right now, of course.’
‘Harry!’ says Shelley. ‘That’s an awful thing to say, when everyone is being so kind.’ Harry doesn’t apologize,but prods her for an answer. She gazes into the fire, pulling at a strand of hair, then says, ‘Mum dying was awful, but at least were all together with it. flunking maths GCSE for the third time was somehow worse, because it was just me on my own. Dad had stopped being cross by then, he was just so disappointed. I couldn’t bear his disappointment.’
‘Falling out with my cousin,’ says Margaret.
I’m still trying to think of an answer, when Yan steps in. ‘The day my dad left …’ He shakes his head, ‘Even today, it’s hard to talk about … What about you, Poppy?’
‘My parents dying.’ It’s not entirely untrue. That was a terrible day. And, in a funny sort of way, it’s partly responsible for where I ended up. But it’s not my worst day ever, not by a long chalk.
Everyone nods. Yan and I have managed to gain the sympathies of the whole group.
‘Nowhere as bad, but getting lost when I was four, was pretty dreadful,’ James says, ‘I thought my parents would never come.’
‘Similar,’ says Nikki, ‘Only I was eight and we had just arrived in Nigeria, so it felt even scarier.’
‘Touché,’ says James, squeezing her arm. I raise an eyebrow at Yan, that was quick, and then wish I hadn’t, there is far too much suggestion in his returning glance. I’m grateful to Margaret for offering me an escape.
‘I think I’d better go and get my tents before it’s too late,’ says Margaret.
‘Want some help?’ Yan asks.
‘That would be kind.’ Yan jumps up and I’m relieved. That’s one less thing to worry about for a while.
‘All the more wine for the rest of us,’ I say as they depart up the beach and the conversation turns to favourite comedy shows. We all agree Friends was great, but too many repeats may just have killed it. Nikki thinks it’s a bit problematic these days, but I think that’s just political correctness. James likes Big Bang Theory, Nikki, Episodes, though maybe it’s not a comedy in the purest sense. I love Catastrophe and am devastated that Carrie Fisher died after she’d shot the last episode. We all loved Fleabag. James likes all the old classics like Porridge and Open All Hours. Though reprising the last two has been a mistake. He concludes that Dinnerladies is genius and what the world really needs is a new Gavin and Stacey.
There is a lull in the conversation. James picks up his guitar and begins to sing a song that sounds vaguely familiar, Ed Sheeran I think. He has a pleasant voice and he plays well. It is almost possible to imagine, listening to him that tonight will be no different from any other beach night: good food, wine, good company before bed, and waking up to sunshine and the promise of another fine day in the morning. The song ends and he begins another. ‘21 Guns’ by Green Day. Of all the songs he could have chosen, he has to pick Seren’s favourite. I wish he hadn’t. I don’t want to spend these hours thinking back on my mistakes, the apology I never gave and never will now. I sip my wine, watching the fire as stick by stick ignites, blazes orange, crumbles and fades to white ash at the base of the flames, reminding me how quickly time is passing. There is so little left to me there is no point dwelling on the past. I lied and lied and left her in ruins, but it was a long time ago. I can’t change what I did, and there’s nothing I can do that could make a difference now. I stand up to put more kindling on the fire. Sparks fly as I lay it in the centre of the flame and the branches burn brightly for a while, lifting my spirits. But it is not long before the light flickers as they begin to crumble and fade, with the same inevitability as all the rest.
Yan
The burgers are sizzling on the barbecue. In front of me, the sea burns in the light of the setting sun. Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. Tomorrow will be glorious. A day for swimming, surfing and sunbathing – except it won’t. I’m not going to make it past eight o’clock … The thought stops me in my tracks. I’ve spent all afternoon trying to avoid the truth and now it staring right back at me. This sunset will be my last.
It doesn’t seem possible.
Smoke stings my eyes, accompanied by an acrid smell. Shit. The food is burning. I salvage the sausages, but the burgers are black. That’ll teach me to wallow in self-pity. I shove them into a plastic bag and grab some more from the cold box. Good job Poppy brought so much with her.
‘Everything all right?’ calls Margaret.
‘Fine.’ I’ve got over my resentment that she has deprived me of sharing this night with Poppy alone. I’ve had to because after she came, who should pitch up but James? And with a beautiful woman in tow, which put paid to any supercilious triumph I might have felt at being proved right. I really don’t know how he does it. First Lisa, now Nikki. Why can’t I have luck like that? My mood wasn’t much improved by Harry and Shelley’s arrival. Another gorgeous woman, but this one with a man twice her age. I decided immediately that he was a total arsehole. He had to be. He certainly put a dampener on the campfire conversation – it’s clear he thinks we’re idiots – so I volunteered to make supper to keep out of his way. I was doing quite well until I let a thought about tomorrow creep in. I won’t let that happen again. I turn the burgers and keep my mind focussed on the task in hand.
Soon the meat is cooked and I have a queue of people ready to eat. Poppy is last. I’d like to think she did that on purpose so she could sit next to me, but I’m fairly sure that’s not true. She was probably just being a polite hostess, making sure the guests had eaten first. Still, I take comfort from her warm thank you for the food, which gives me the illusion that I’m her co-host. I watch her discreetly when she isn’t looking; please God, if you exist – which I really doubt – but if you do, please give me this last morsel of comfort. If James can find himself a woman today, surely I can too?
The sun is nearly gone; it hovers on the horizon, glowing orange and red, the evening star shining brightly beside it. It is still warm, the air calm, the ebb and flow of the waves hushing us. It’s a perfect end to the day. To … my last day. I bite into the burger, trying not to think that this is my last supper. It doesn’t seem real. I realize that I haven’t called Mum yet. I check my phone. It’s nearly eight o’clock and Warsaw is an hour ahead. She’ll be getting ready for bed. If I call her now it will only make her anxious. I shouldn’t do that, it wouldn�
��t be fair. Besides, she wasn’t any help when Karo died, why would that be any different tonight? Wouldn’t it serve her right if I don’t speak to her ever again? If she hears on the news and has to deal with it all by herself, like I had to? No, that’s too cruel. I have to speak to her, it wouldn’t be fair. I stare at her number. I won’t phone now – it’s too late. Probably best to call first thing, keep it simple, say goodbye and leave it at that. It’s not as if she needs me anyway. Not when she has her church group, her Father Piotr, and the dogs to keep her busy.
I am about to put my phone away, when a news alert flashes up. Fuck. The government cut the early warning unit that might just have saved our lives. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I realize I must have said that last one out loud, because Poppy asks how I am. Stupid idiot, I should have kept this to myself. Now I’ve silenced everyone completely. It’s bad enough that we are here. But the thought that we might have avoided it …? No one looks at each other, we’re all thinking the same thing I expect. No one knows what to say. And then, thank God, Poppy suggests a getting-to-know-you game. What a hero. She must be feeling as awful as the rest of us but here she is pulling us together, helping us through the fear. The least I can do is take her lead sharing my memories of Bondi Beach. God, I loved it there, it was one of my best times ever. Why didn’t I stay ? I could have applied for citizenship eventually – if I’d only stayed, I be watching all this from my TV.
Don’t think about it. There’s no point thinking about it, or about the government cuts that got us here. If I listen carefully to the others, I can stop myself focussing on the negative. It’s easy enough till Harry speaks. I was right, he is an arsehole. He shares a story from his sleazeball past and doesn’t even notice how much it upsets Shelley. I’m not surprised, then, that he shifts the game to get us to talk about our worst moments. I’m with Shelley: isn’t it bad enough we’re here? What’s the point of thinking about our bad days now? Nonetheless, tonight has a bit of a Truth or Dare vibe about it, and so I tell them the truth and talk about the day Dad left. I don’t go into too much detail, just how he walked out mid-row saying, sorry kids but he couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t explain why he couldn’t take it or how Mum retreated into her room and stayed there for days, leaving me and Karo to fend for ourselves. I’ve never told anyone any of that I’m not going to start tonight, I pass the question to Poppy instead.
The Wave Page 6
